She catches her reflection in my eyes,

the wall of wetness creating a mirror against my retinas

even as it tumbles down my cheeks.

Still, she ignores the broken glass on my

face, looking at her own smiling reflection as she

speaks to my fractured grin.

.

She does not see the burning behind my eyes.

She cannot feel the aching in my chest as my

scattered breath forces in-out-in-out-in-out

of my empty lungs.

.

I cannot tell if she years the violent wavering of

my voice as I try to hold in the crashing eaves,

slowly drowning myself in the process.

.

From what I can see, she ignores it, speaking

to the paint on my face that hides the glass,

even as it breaks my skin open and washes

away the mask with the blood,

.

She ignores it, because her life is so much more

important than mine, even when my skull

is breaking from all of the pressure in my mind.

She ignores the way my trembling fingers

wipe the tears off my face with the sleeve

of my sweatshirt.

.

I try not to wince from the tug of the cloth

against my skin.

I smile through the glass and the blood,

and even though my grin is more of

a grimace, she compliments the shade of

tears that have made my eyes so blue.